I Can't Face the Dark Without You
by danielledisaster1006
Summary: John & Sherlock are reunited, obviously it's an emotional moment. What could tear them apart now? Johnlock, I don't own anything BBC, Sherlock, or Breaking Benjamin related.


"I Can't Face the Dark without You"

John Watson, his military doctor, was the only thing in Sherlock Holmes' mind palace while an ex-Soviet flogged his back. Despite his ambition to plan his escape, the way John's eyes sparkled with child-like admiration when Sherlock made an observation (which was typically obvious, as far as Sherlock was concerned) was the only image Sherlock could conjure. "Motivation, get back to him!" Sherlock thought aloud. While his Russian attacker paced to the front, and at precisely 28.3 degrees to Sherlock's left, he head-butted the Soviet's stomach, making the brute fall onto the lever that released the consulting detective's restraints. Sherlock bound for the hole above him, with a sharp nod and a muttered "Das-va-dan-ya."

As Sherlock's eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, and his pale skin to the bitter cold, he sent a text. "Get me out of here. NOW. –SH" 45 seconds after the text had sent, Sherlock heard a helicopter coming his way. A ladder descended, and Sherlock climbed aboard, preparing for any snide remarks his… Blimey, he hated the thought of this… his "rescuer" would make. "Hello, baby brother." Mycroft smirked at Sherlock. "Should I guard my neck?" "I'm not undead, you smart arse," Sherlock shot back; "I did what was needed of me." Sherlock bit his bottom lip hesitantly, and made eye contact with his brother. "How is-" the sleuth was interrupted. "Your pet? Watson is fine. Happier without you, in fact." Mycroft let out a shrill laugh as his brother's face fell. "What, sentiment? Did you honestly believe he'd miss you? My brother, you sweet idiot!" Sherlock's mind went completely went blank, the only sensation he was aware of was the smacking noise his fist made when he punched Mycroft right below his left eye. A strange stinging filled his eyes with tears. "Bastard! Everything I've done, everything I will ever do, is for him! I brought this upon him, he's my responsibility! I know he's better off without me!" Mycroft listened with a vicious aura. He then turned to face his younger brother, locked eyes with him, and stated the one thing he knew would shatter the detective. "You never deserved him."

Sherlock had another new sensation, like his chest was tightening and suffocating him. He never thought breathing was relevant until he couldn't do it. He knew no matter how cruel Mycroft's statement was, it was perhaps the most honest thing his older companion had ever said to him. How could he, a "genius" by most standards, fool himself into believing he could ever deserve John? John Watson, his beautiful doctor, his army-made protector.

As they landed at Mycroft's estate, Sherlock spotted the typical black car. "Go to him, baby brother." Mycroft stated in an uncharacteristically soft manner. Sherlock looked at Mycroft with a rare look of puzzlement upon his features. "You need to see him for yourself. If I'm right, leave him be. But I know you, Sherlock. You won't believe a bloody word I say, you feel the need to prove it to yourself. If you have the compelling need to get hurt, fine. I'll be here if you need me…" The elder brother looked down shamefully, but when he looked back up, the tall young detective was gone.

"Damn, it's been three years. Three long years, and I still… I still see you everywhere. Mary is good to me, b-but she's not you. Sure, you constantly put my life in danger, and smoked in the flat. None of that hurt me like watching you… I can't face the dark without you, and every damn where I look is pitch black! Sherlock, I-" John's voice failed him as his throat is hitched with grief, his body collapsing to a kneeling position at Sherlock Holmes' grave. His sobs are brash, but he doesn't care. A figure, far in the distance, starts running towards the sound of John's wails. The blonde bowed his head, until he felt the warmth of a hand on his back. "Dear Watson, do you always yell when you mourn…?" John's eyes quadrupled in size as the silky voice met his eardrums. "Sherlock?!"

His vision flashed red as his fist connected with the sleuth's jaw. As the doctor watched his previously believed to be deceased friend fall to the ground, all he could think of was the infamous Reichenbach fall. The heart wrenching scream… "SHERLOCK!"… echoed in the graveyard, as it had once did three years ago in front of St. Bart's. Sherlock swiftly got to his feet, and locked his lanky arms around his doctor. John's screaming continued, until the outburst turned into bawling into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock could clearly depict John's muffled whimpers, and that only made the taller man tighten his embrace. "Why, Sherlock? W-why? I was s-so broken, did you enjoy it? Did it m-make you feel better, m-making me watch? Your last words to me were lies, and you lied all this time! Why?!" John's body shook as he turned his gaze up to his taller companion, with a desperate, pleading gleam in his eye. Sherlock took his friends hands into his own, a rare display of affection. John considered this even more intimate than the hug, for the self-declared sociopath might have only hugged him to prevent the doctor's flailing arms from hitting him. Sherlock outwardly cradled the callused hands, seemingly soothing every nerve in the tired doctor. "Let's go home. I have a lot to tell." Sherlock said smoothly, not breaking eye contact. The gangly brunette led the silver streaked blonde to the main road, where Mycroft's car was waiting, engine purring. Sherlock opened the back passenger door, permitting John to get in the car. "221B, Baker Street please." John mumbled as Sherlock entered the vehicle from the opposite side. The short drive home was silent, the tension quite obvious to everyone in the car. John couldn't peel his eyes from those luscious, deep mahogany locks that framed a sharply cut porcelain face. John tried to capture Sherlock's uncommonly bright blue eyes. The brunette was simply captivating, so much so that John didn't realize when the car lurched to a stop, with a navy SUV blocking the black cars path. "John…" Sherlock quickly shielded the doctor, unaware of what was to happen next.


End file.
